They
by Canadihipster
Summary: In which observation requires attentiveness and patience is not negotiable. Reposted from my Tumblr.


Who made up all the rules? We follow them like fools, believe them to be true, don't care to think them through.

"It's not fair."

The words were spoken by someone who was used to saying them, as if they'd become a subconscious mantra of sorts, a punctuation at times. There was wisdom in that young voice. A hint of tiredness, guilt, but no resentment.

He was not used to hearing such strongly worded sayings spoken so softly. He did not bother to listen to anything else being said after that.

"I do not understand your motivation, though I do not expect myself to. Perhaps, if you would discuss the situation with me, rather than simply observe, we could reach a solution to both our discomforts?"

Nothing mattered past the first words that had been spoken to him by that troll. He knew nothing of what the higher casts went through, of their turmoil, their destruction. It was not easy to be used, it was not easy to crave and be caught in manic throes.

"Sometimes, I break down, too."

That was the night he began listening.

"You've no rhyme nor reason behind the actions I have observed. You will tune me out, possibly believe I am unaware, but you grow unresponsive. I worry. How am I to know your health is not jeopardized if you won't speak to me?" He paused for a moment, head tilting to the side, as if it were interesting that his audience was hearing his words for once. _'Curiouser and curiouser,' _he thought, for the first time truly taking note of how bodily the mutant could be when he was involved in a conversation. He was not amused, though, by his presence, and would have left for the evening had he not continued on with but a wave of the hand, a shake of his head, and a small grin.

"I don't expect you to believe I care. How could I ask such a thing of you, when you have captured me, forced those I love into hiding for fear of being taken just as I have? I do hope they are not working to rescue me, as such a thing would be much too dangerous. Entering the Subjuggulator's court would be difficult, even for us. I am surprised your companions did not rip me to shr-"

"They are _not_ my companions," he left after growling that out, leaving the Signless to his thoughts for two sleep cycles.

"I was worried. You did not come to visit. I thought something had happened. I asked those who came by if I may request at least a word of your safety, but they would not answer me such. I apologise for not being able to request my word of greeting sent to you at some point," he looked more tired than usual, sounded more relieved than anything. The mutant had been worried for him, for whatever unknown reason, had lost sleep over him.

Perhaps, considering the lack of recuperacoon in his holding chamber, the nightmares had come. He spoke often of visions of peace and equality, of a world where they all lived together in harmony, but never of sleep terrors. Did he not have them?

"I dreamed of you-"

The Grand Highblood slammed a fist against the bars before leaving that time. No one ever bothered to bend them back to their correct form.

"I'm sorry I upset you." He had returned a few hours later, more relaxed than usual and subtly clumsy on his feet. He sat down closer to the bars than ever before, resting his painted forehead against them and peering past his thick hair at his current company. A quiet, dim hum rumbled in his throat, but he did not respond otherwise. "You are not your own this evening. Is it midnight by now? It's difficult to tell the time in here, my apologies," he laughed.

No answer was given, but they sat in comfortable silence for a long while. At some point, the indigo blooded troll had shut his eyes and, sometime later, felt hands gently cupping his cheeks, a quiet voice attempting to gain his attention. He was roused from near unconsciousness, scowled, and all but broke the Signless's arms when he shoved him away and lumbered off.

The Grand Highblood was not a lonely man. If he wanted company he received it. If he wanted to kill them, so be it, paint their glorious life force upon his walls, devour their corpse if he so pleased. He did not mind most of his work, took orders from only her Highest and worked around the system otherwise. He would slaughter and, on occasion, he would be asked to do so even more than usual. There was no minding of this, most of the time he enjoyed it, but being asked to grubsit a heretic was not anything he wished to participate in.

And so it was.

The Signless was crying.

He had been screaming previously, had been clawing at the moist, concrete walls on two sides of his chamber, had thrown himself against the bars. He had a bruised eye and had torn off a finger nail, he was snotty and looked more a child than usual, yellow optics wild and hazed, as if he were viewing something on an entirely different pane of existence.

He whimpered for a woman the Grand Highblood did not mind to recall the name of even as the larger troll pushed his back against a wall and snarled and shouted at him until he was brought back to reality. After that incident, he quietly requested company for longer periods of time, even if they were other Subjugs simply standing in the room.

The Grand Highblood cuffed him around the horn and complied.

It was only a few day cycles later that his court was infiltrated. Someone from the legislative building, rumours stated, had aided in the break in, but there was no evidence, not even a name. No one was injured, no one saw the culprits, nothing was broken nor missing.

Minus his charge.

The Signless, some time later, was strung up by heated irons and executed. The Grand Highblood attended and laughed, clubbed any and all he could get his hands on that refused to seek merriment.

The Executioner let the huntress go out of pity.

The Grand Highblood thought it would have been a mercy to kill all three of them before they had to face their lives Post-Execution.


End file.
